His gesture had been purely instinctive—Glenn seemed to have no resistance at all toward these endearing warriors.

  Elena remained frozen where she stood, a strange warmth lingering on her hair. Though the young man was clearly younger than she, that fleeting touch carried the comforting gentleness of a father’s hand.

  A blush bloomed across her cheeks. “Thank you for your words… I should go now,” she said hastily.

  Glenn barely managed to lift his hand in farewell before she mounted her gryphon and soared away.

  Windsor, watching the scene, gave him a long, knowing glance before taking off herself.

  Did I just… flirt with her? Glenn wondered uncertainly as he picked up the reins again.

  “Level Seven werewolf?”

  In a cavern thick with the stench of blood, an old man with a tangled white beard sat high upon a rock, tearing into a slab of raw meat with yellowed fangs. He spoke with his mouth full, voice rough and guttural.

  “Yes. To ambush and slay a demon commander, he must have been at least Level Seven,” replied a gaunt elder standing below, bowing respectfully.

  “Lies,” the white-bearded elder scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. “There exists no werewolf stronger than I. It must have been a sorcerer disguised through transformation magic. Use your brains, you fools.”

  Below him, over a hundred figures—some human-shaped, others half-beast—fell silent. Then, one by one, they nodded in sudden enlightenment.

  “Our king is truly wise! Of course—it’s a setup meant to frame us! I wonder if those foolish knights will fall for it and come here looking for trouble,” the gaunt old man muttered resentfully.

  The old Wolf King tossed aside the half-eaten meat and roared with laughter. “Let them come! They’ll have to find us first! Tell me, when have the werewolves ever been wiped out? Never! We have nothing to fear.”

  The discarded meat was immediately seized upon by the pack—scrambling, snarling, tearing at it in a frenzy. It was meat from a high-grade magical beast—their favorite delicacy.

  Only a few wolf chieftains remained still. Their gazes were eerily uniform, fixed intently on the Wolf King’s throne. They dared not reveal their ambitions yet—the Wolf King was far beyond their reach. They would wait.

  “I recall that Chief Parker went near the demon incursion zone, didn’t he? He hasn’t returned, has he?” the Wolf King asked suddenly.

  “Yes, my lord,” the gaunt elder replied. “We’ve lost contact with him.”

  “What a pity. Another loyal subordinate gone,” the Wolf King said, laughing heartily, his mirth at odds with his words.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Indeed,” the old man beneath him muttered with a hint of complaint. “Parker was supposed to escort your shipment, my king. His disappearance nearly cost us the cargo.”

  The other chieftains cast disdainful looks his way. Groveling dog, they all thought with equal contempt.

  “It was nothing but some beast meat and materials,” the Wolf King said carelessly. “We can always raid more.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when a panicked cry echoed from the tunnel entrance: “My King! We’ve just received a message—from the demons!”

  “What?!” The Wolf King sprang to his feet, all amusement gone.

  A message from demons—an omen of death, a summons to hell.

  “Where was it found?!” He leapt down from his perch, landing before the trembling messenger and seizing him by the throat.

  “A-at our outpost in the Senbo region…” the werewolf stammered.

  “What did the message say?!” several chieftains demanded in alarm.

  “It said… ’Surrender the Flame Fang at once, or your souls shall writhe in eternal torment…’”

  The Wolf King crushed the messenger’s skull in one hand and vanished in an instant.

  At the Senbo outpost, a group of werewolves stared in horror at the demonic fire that burned words into the air above them—each glowing letter radiating dread.

  Glenn’s deer-drawn carriage rattled along the winding dirt road.

  After confirming that his shop in Dudd Town had suffered no damage, he set out toward the place where Luther and the others had retreated.

  He hadn’t asked for directions—he simply followed the scent. The destination was unknown, and the road desolate.

  The land was eerily silent under the shadow of the demon invasion. Hills rolled endlessly on either side, jagged with stone. The path, worn by countless hurried feet, jolted the carriage with every rut.

  This world really needs cell phones, Glenn thought irritably. One quick call and I could have them back—no need for this ridiculous trip.

  He considered sending a letter instead, but knowing how pressed for time he would be soon, he decided it was faster to go himself.

  Up ahead, a few figures emerged—each armed, each wearing that unmistakable look of desperation. Bandits.

  Glenn’s eyes lit up in sudden interest.

  Moments later…

  He counted the few silver coins in his hand, sighed in disappointment, and flicked the reins again.

  Behind him, the bandits huddled together, stripped down to rags, clutching at their most private parts and looking ready to cry.

  They had been making easy money amid the chaos of the invasion—successful several times before. When they failed, they at least escaped alive. But today, all their hard-earned loot had been taken by someone else. The humiliation was unbearable.

  Another half hour down the road, a camp came into view—smoke rising from several fires, the faint sound of laughter and chatter drifting on the breeze.

  A mercenary camp.

  Glenn had no intention of stopping. He turned his carriage slightly to pass around it—until a shout rang out from the perimeter.

  “Hold it right there!”

  The deer slowed to a stop. Glenn looked lazily toward the two mercenaries who had flagged him down.

  “You can’t go any further,” one said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

  Out here, on such a deserted stretch of land, a lone traveler was prey waiting to be taken. Even decent men could turn into beasts when the law was far away.

  “And why not?” Glenn asked around a yawn. The long, bumpy ride had made him weary.

  Seeing his calm indifference, the mercenaries exchanged amused glances. Clearly, this one had no idea what kind of trouble he was in.

  “You came from the direction of the demon incursion,” one said coolly. “For all we know, you could be a demon in disguise. We can’t let you pass. Leave your carriage here and come with us.”

  His tone left no room for refusal.

  “Oh, I see,” Glenn said mildly, nodding. “So it is a robbery.”

  The two men laughed aloud, convinced the traveler was a simple fool.

  But the next instant, their world spun violently. The ground slammed up to meet them with bone-crushing force.

  When their dazed minds cleared, they realized they’d been hurled several meters away.

  The commotion drew the attention of the entire camp. Dozens of mercenaries poured out, weapons drawn, surrounding Glenn in a tense circle—each eye burning with alarm.